Asa handed them each a small earpiece. They slid into place with tiny clicks that sounded unnaturally loud in the hush.
“Comms check,” Asa said.
“Check,” everyone answered, voices soft.
They watched Brioni’s head jerk up toward the loft. Movement below made every breath feel conspicuous.
Asa’s eyes were cold when he hissed, “Don’t look up here.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the warning carried. When Zane met his gaze, giving him a stern look, Asa barked a sound that was half irritation and half endearment before saying, “I know your first instinct is to glance up when you hear us talk, but you absolutely cannot do that. You’ll get us all killed.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Brioni breathed into the cam. “I’m freaking out.” Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her hoodie. Her knuckles showed white in the camera’s grainy feed.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Seven said, his tone softer than he felt. “But you have to pretend we’re not here. They’ll expect nerves. But if your eyes start darting, they’ll suspect a set-up and start tying up loose ends. You'll be first.”
Brioni nodded, and the image on Zane’s phone trembled with the motion.
“What’s the plan?” Enzo asked, the question practical and steady.
“Wait for them to arrive,” Avi said, brandishing a strange, compact weapon that looked like a hybrid between a shotgun and a toy. “Use this to incapacitate them, then have a little fun before they die.” He grinned like a mad man. It made the hairs on Seven’s arms stand up.
Enzo cocked an eyebrow. “What the hell is that?”
“Rubber rounds,” Avi said. “Just enough to ruin their night before we finish them off properly.”
Seven’s lips twitched. Nobody loved a slow, theatrical end more than the twins. He noted Enzo’s composure, the way his jaw stayed loose, how his breath matched the others’ casual cadence. For a moment, Seven wondered if the man next to himfelt any of the dark anticipation that pooled in Seven like oil. If so, he didn’t show it. Did the others know how jumpy Seven felt on the inside, or did he somehow radiate that same outward calm while his insides buzzed like frayed wires?
Enzo must have noted something because his arm came around Seven’s shoulders, pulling him against him. His calm was a heat lamp; it warmed Seven and made him dangerously complacent.
A harsh metallic scrape crawled through the building like a warning: corrugated metal doors dragging across concrete like nails on a chalkboard. Zane tensed.
“Stay cool, Brioni,” Asa whispered softly. There were no theatrics in it. Just a quiet command, reminding her that their lives were in each other’s hands.
She didn’t respond aloud; she couldn’t. Her phone-camera trembled as a shadow moved into frame.
“Grant?” she asked softly, voice trembling.
The man stepped from the shadows. Seven had to fight the snort building inside. The man looked like he’d come straight from the eighteenth hole, not a hair out of place. He wore form-fitting khakis, a pink polo shirt, and brown Sperry topsiders.
He rushed to Brioni, but she stumbled back, holding up a hand. “Stop.”
“Bethy? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice oily and far too casual.
“Don’t ‘Bethy’ me, you prick. Where are the other two?” Brioni snapped, voice brittle.
“Other two?” He feigned confusion, and that single syllable made every muscle in the alcove coil tighter. His ignorance was practiced, the kind of performance that hid a predator’s patience.
Grant wasn’t just arranging a meeting. He’d had no problem with the other two greenlighting Brioni's demise. Seven couldsee the serpentine coldness in his gaze even though the image appeared black and white.
Brioni wasn’t having any of it. “Don’t piss me off, Grant. I’m this close to going to the cops and telling them every?—”
“No!” Grant shouted, lurching toward her. The sound echoed up through the rafters. She stumbled back once again, sneakers scraping across the gritty concrete. He froze mid-step, catching himself. “Bethy, be reasonable. I know you liked Neith. She was a good woman.” Seven’s lip curled in disgust listening to the man talk about his mother as if she was dead. “But if you tell anyone, we can’t keep helping these women.”
“Oh, fuck off, Grant,” Brioni said, giving voice to Seven’s own thought. “I know what you’re really up to.”
“What?” he asked, too fast, too high-pitched.
Seven could hear the sneer in her tone as she said, “You trafficked those women and children.”
Grant tilted his head, his expression morphing into a condescension that made Seven irritated on Brioni’s behalf. “Bethy?—”
